


Under the Stone

by Ms_Ingno



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Child Abuse, Comfort/Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lesbian Sex, Light Masochism, Masturbation, POV Alternating, Self-Harm, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-23 22:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Ingno/pseuds/Ms_Ingno
Summary: [Natsuri] Where is this coming from? But I knew. It’d been there all along, waiting, waiting for me to take Yuri by the hand and tell her it was okay, that she wasn’t a monster for letting her pain show. That I would make her feel better, that I would make even the ugliest parts of her feel beautiful again.





	1. Stomach Pains

“Okay, everyone!” I jerked my head away from my book; Monika was standing at the front of the clubroom, smiling brightly. “The club meeting is over for today! Don’t forget your assignment for tonight.”

 

A feeling of dread—familiar at this point in my life, but still sickeningly uncomfortable—settled over me, hardening like a pit in my stomach.

 

Sayori and her boyfriend—or whatever the hell he was to her—started to walk out the door together, chatting inanely. I hadn’t known him for very long, but I had known him just long enough to know that he irritated me. It wasn’t even just _him_ —he wasn’t _that_ bad—but the way everyone _acted_ around him was enough to drive me up a wall. Sayori, for one thing… and Monika, who watched silently as the two of the left the room, seeming lost in thought.

 

_So it’s just us three losers who get to walk home by ourselves again,_ I thought. Not that Monika was a loser. Far from it. It made me feel better to include her, though.

 

Yuri started gathering her things behind me. Now _she_ was a loser. Certifiably so. At least _I_ had friends. Well… sort of. If you could call them that.

 

I waited until Yuri left the room, then slowly began to gather my own things. Monika looked at me. It was a knowing look, one that told me she knew why I took my time, but that she knew better than to say anything about it.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Natsuki,” she said, her voice softer than usual. I didn’t think it was in reference to me; she was still thinking about something. Maybe about the new kid in the club. Maybe about Sayori, or the club’s activities, or something totally different.

 

I waved goodbye.

 

* * *

 

The door to my apartment was locked. I entered it, almost shaking with relief; he was still at work, it seemed. I didn’t quite know why, but it was always worse when he was home before me… something about me coming home later really upset him. I tried to avoid it whenever possible, but…

 

This week was an upswing, so far. The past couple hadn’t been so fortunate for me. Although the literature club gave me an hour or so of reprieve, it also meant that I was playing with fire about coming home when he was here.

 

I opened the fridge. Nothing, but he had his vodka in there behind a carton of eggs. I thought, briefly, about making myself an egg or two—cracking it into hot butter, cooking it _just_ past the point of readiness, and eating it over the sink to conceal any mess.

 

_No._ I knew better. He’d be home soon. I didn’t want him to count them again. Especially since I’d used some to make the cupcakes for the club.

 

I glanced back at the empty contents of the fridge and thought of taking a sip of the vodka instead. I’d never touched the stuff before; I’d always been afraid that he’d check, or smell it on me, and I’d be in serious trouble then.

 

Logically, though, it wouldn’t help my cramping stomach. It’d likely only make things worse. Didn’t they say not to drink when you hadn’t eaten?

 

I closed the fridge, fighting back tears. I should have eaten more than one cupcake.

 

_It’s fine. You’re fine,_ I thought, inhaling softly. _How much change do I have? Enough for the vending machine? If not, there’s—_

The door opened, the sound almost a slam. I jerked upright, like a marionette on a string.

 

“Natsuki? You here?”

 

I turned away from the closed fridge, suppressing the shivers that shot through my body like bolts of electricity. Like I’d touched a live wire, my bare skin felt scorched.

 

“I’m here, Papa!”

 

Almost on autopilot, I grabbed a short glass from the cabinet, filled it with ice, and grabbed the vodka from the fridge. He was already on the couch, eyeing me with suspicion. I should have known better than to linger in the kitchen.

 

“Would you like a drink, Papa?”

 

He looked at me, and, thank god, that darkening look on his face vanished at the thought of his after-work vodka.

 

“Yes, dear. That’d be great.” He relaxed his posture, reposed like a jungle cat amongst tree branches. Eyes watchful, waiting for someone to step too close, break a branch.

 

My hands trembled as I handed him the glass. He noticed, and I swear, it made him smile.

 

* * *

 

Our next club meeting was hard. I felt myself drifting in and out of focus, alternating between a daydream of biting into an apple and feeling the juices run down my chin, and looking at the ridiculous way Yuri was behaving around the new guy.

 

Yuri. I was never sure why, but her change in personality was something of a new obsession for me.

 

I had never really met Yuri before I joined the literature club, but my friends seemed to know about her. They’d told me a couple of things, things that made me uncomfortable to think about. About some of the weird things she was into. One of them swore she’d seen her washing her hands in the restroom and her sleeve wasn’t pulled down all the way—and she _said_ there’d been cuts there. I didn’t know how true that was, but that’s what she told me.

 

I mean, even if that _wasn’t_ true, it was obvious why she was a loser. Yuri was a loner, a nerd, and generally an unlikable person. And not _just_ because she was so smart, either. She was _pretentious._ You could see the smug pleasure on her face, purposefully using all these big, complicated words around people and then just smiling to herself when they didn’t know what they meant. Like, who does that?

 

In any case… Yuri was not a popular girl. It wasn’t like she wasn’t pretty, either. God. She was actually kind of beautiful in her own way—her hair was almost as long as Monika’s, although it looked a little scraggly in comparison.

 

I mean, the comparison didn’t really work. Monika was popular. She took care of her appearance because she _had_ to; the rest of us were lost in our own little competitions with others.

 

But anyone, especially any guy, who looked at Yuri… I mean… she had such an exaggerated, ridiculous figure. Like the love interest in a manga, you know? I never noticed—well, okay, I _noticed_ —until she started flirting with the new kid.

 

The way she bent at her tiny waist, concealing her pale face with long dark hair. Her chest straining at the buttons on her blazer. She blushed at _everything_ he said! Can you even do that on command?

 

I didn’t really _care_ about Yuri. Let me make that very clear.

 

The thing is… sometimes—before Sayori dragged her little friend here—we’d talk in the club. Even if it wasn’t a lot, we’d chat sometimes.

 

And since _he_ got here… there was nothing, really, to distract me from my hunger pains, except for hating her.

 

Was I jealous? I honestly didn’t know if I was. He didn’t seem that great. So what was it? What was it that drew her to him, like a drunken bee to a ripe fruit?

 

My stomach cramped, distracting me from my spiraling thoughts. I glanced away from Yuri, flirting shamelessly with that stupid new guy, to Sayori and Monika in the corner.

 

I wanted to go home. But on the flip side, I never wanted to go home again.


	2. But That's About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's preoccupied.

As usual, I pretended like I couldn’t feel them staring at me.

 

And, as usual, I could still feel their eyes on my back—little pinpricks of heat boring into me, like ticks burrowing under a dog’s skin.

 

I never understood the stigma of eating alone at lunch. I actually preferred it—or at least, I thought I did. I had nothing to compare it to. But the solitude was nice, and I could read whatever book I was into at the time without anyone interrupting me.

 

I supposed people were hypersensitive to being perceived as lonely. Or, to use colloquial terms, to being perceived as a loser.

 

It was high school, after all, and I knew what it looked like to the rest of the people in my class when I secluded myself. One had to ask, though—was I really doing it myself? Even if I did, perchance, invite someone to eat with me…

 

Would they accept, or would they giggle and turn away?

 

I brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, trying to ignore the prickling feeling under my blazer. I’d picked up my old favorite book again; I found comfort in the familiar syntax, the characters and the dialogue. It was like speaking to an old friend. _The Portrait of Markov_ was a morbid story, yes, but every time I read it, I found new things, incredible things that I’d missed on the last read-through.

 

I tugged at one of my sleeves, feeling it inch a little too far down for comfort. The edge of the blazer was too stiff against my wrist. Chafing.

 

That was the last thing I needed, I thought, sipping at my Styrofoam; the tea was strong, intricate. I brewed it myself at home. After all, if I were going to sit alone at lunch and read, I figured I might as well enjoy it to the best of my ability. The cafeteria’s weak, watery tea almost felt insulting to me now.

 

“…weird,” I heard someone mutter to my left. I didn’t recognize the voice.

 

“…Shion told me… arms…”

 

I lowered my head, feeling my face flush. _I’m not letting it get to me today,_ I thought, running my thumb along the front cover of the novel.

 

I had something to look forward to, at least. The literature club was meeting today after eighth period. We were sharing poems again today, and—

 

There was _him_.

 

I felt my pulse quicken, just a little bit—I couldn’t help but smile, thinking about him. He was Sayori’s friend, brought to the literature club by the pure force of her persuasion. But I was so glad she had convinced him to join. He wrote wonderfully—for an amateur, anyway—and listened so…

 

Attentively.

 

I smiled before I realized I was doing it.

 

The bell rang, and, ignoring the people behind me, I gathered my things with as much optimism as I could muster.

 

* * *

 

“This is what you wrote?” Natsuki squinted at my sheaf of paper as though she couldn’t see it properly.

 

“Is there a problem?” I was already tired of talking to her. Sayori and her best friend were giggling over their own poems, and I noticed Monika in the corner, leafing through a packet.

 

Everyone was enjoying themselves but me, it seemed like. And maybe Natsuki. Her face had the expression it usually did: like she’d bitten into a lemon that she’d been told was an apple.

 

“N-no, not a _problem_ …” Natsuki put the poem on the desk next to her. “It’s better than your last one, I guess.”

 

My last one. “Well… okay. Thanks, I suppose.”

 

She folded her arms under her small chest, peering up at me. “What did you think of mine?”

 

“It’s…” I flicked my eyes over it, trying hard not to roll them. Her own was better, too; less simplistic, less childish. I felt that maybe she’d put in more effort to improve someone.

 

But who? I glanced at _him_ , tousling Sayori’s hair in the corner. My face flamed—hopefully not noticeably—but I could see Natsuki’s eyes follow mine.

 

“I like it,” I said, simply, handing it back to her. I didn’t want her to make any rude comments. I was tired. I was so, so tired today.

 

_Why is he spending so much time with Sayori today?_ I thought. My chest hurt; why? Was it the metaphorical heart, sitting like a lump of lead beneath my breasts? I felt like a walking cliché, the spurned heroine.

 

_And he hasn’t even spurned me._

 

“Are you… okay?” Natsuki’s brow furrowed. She stared up at me, eyes like harsh pink neon lights. “You don’t seem…”

 

I put a hand to my chest, trying to ignore the vice-like feeling. “Oh! I—”

 

I was caught off guard. When’s the last time Natsuki had said anything nice to me? Ever?

 

“—I’m fine,” I managed, trying to smile back at her. “I appreciate it. Really.”

 

She looked at me dubiously. What was her deal? Had she been possessed? Body-snatched?

 

“Well… maybe you should sit down for a minute,” she said, glancing over to where I had been staring. “He’s almost done with Sayori, so…”

 

“Oh—that’s—that’s not—”

 

She flicked her wrist, indicating that she didn’t care what I was talking about.

 

“You know, I was thinking.” She was the one who sounded uncomfortable now—and when I looked back at her, she seemed to be blushing, too. “We, uh… we write really differently… and I was thinking. Maybe we should try writing about the same thing sometime?”

 

I tilted my head. Had I wandered into an alternate reality without noticing? Was such a thing possible?

 

“What would you propose for a topic?” I said.

 

She brightened. “Oh! Well, I was thinking something simple… maybe something like the beach?”

 

I laughed, but she seemed serious. Oops. “The beach? I guess… I guess I can try.”

 

“You can _try_?” She huffed. I struggled not to say, “ _but that’s about it,_ ” when she went on: “I just think it would be interesting, you know? We have different writing styles, so who knows what we could come up with!”

 

“Right.” I smiled, trying to soften my tone. “I think it’s a good idea. Let’s try it for this Friday’s poem. Okay?”

 

“Fine.”

 

I heard footsteps, and I turned. He was smiling, eyes gleaming amber, a wrinkled piece of notebook paper in his hands.

 

Temporarily, I forgot about Natsuki, and straightened my posture.

 

And on impulse, I tugged at my sleeves.

 

Natsuki lingered behind me, but when I turned around, she’d walked away, her own poem held gingerly between her fingers.


	3. Bad Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki's day has a bad start.

Although it was still early, the sky was overcast, preventing the dawn from erupting its pink glow over the sky. Today had been a rare day: my father had decided to drive me to school, which was very uncustomary and somewhat nerve-wracking.

 

Maybe it’s a cliché, but I had always taken comfort in procedure, in strict schedules. I liked to know when certain events were happening so that I could mentally—and sometimes physically—prepare for them. So when my father—or anyone else, for that matter—decided to make spontaneous things happen…

 

It did nothing but create a black well of anxiety under my chest.

 

“You have your club after school today?” His voice was clipped. I concentrated on looking out of the window, on the safety lamps that were beginning to dim, on the students walking gaily to class.

 

“Yes, Papa.”

 

“Will you be home on time?”

  
  
“I will do my best to be home on time.”

  
  
I knew that this was the wrong answer before I even uttered it; however, when I chanced a look at his face, it remained unperturbed. I brightened a bit. Maybe it was a good day? Maybe he had something to look forward to at work? A date?

 

He crawled the car into the high school’s parking lot and jerked it into park with an aggressive fist.

 

Then he grabbed my knee, lightning-quick, and squeezed. I gasped, but I knew if I cried out it would only enrage him further; instead, I cowered, the way I knew he liked, lowering my face onto my thighs and waiting for it to pass.

 

“If you come home later than I do today, you’re going to be in a _lot of trouble._ ”

 

“I—” my voice sounded squeaky, which hurt me even further, but he cut me off.

 

“Listen to me. Do you understand?”

 

I could feel the bones in my kneecap grinding together. Students passed by our dark-tinted windows, chatting, laughing, worrying about homework. I wanted to scream—in pain, in anger. Humiliation. I shrank away from him further, willing it to end.

 

All I said was, “Yes, Papa.”

 

After a short pause, he let go of my knee. I coughed, hiding a sob of pain, and started to open the passenger’s side door.

 

“Remember, Natsuki. Just in case you thought I was joking.” His eyes were flinty when I met them, but he was smiling. Too happy. Too pleased at having hurt me into submission.

 

“Yes… Papa.”

 

My friends were standing outside on the sidewalk, as was customary before the bell rang for classes to begin. The sight of them usually filled me with a combination of dread and competitiveness; our friend group was more about arguing and gossip than it was anything else.

 

Today, I found it hard to force myself to smile. The bones in my right knee ached. I could feel a bruise forming on top, the fingers imprinting themselves onto my skin. I was dead-tired from homework and poetry-writing the night before, and my stomach was growling already.

 

“Hi, Natsuki!” My closest friend in the group, a girl named Shion with raven-black hair and a teasing smile, greeted me. “How’s it going?”

 

I tried to force my facial muscles into a grin. I wasn’t sure how well it was working. “Just great. Any news on Satoshi today?”

 

Satoshi was her crush. A large percentage of our conversations centered on him, and if I didn’t feel like talking, bringing him up was a surefire way to get her to ramble about him.

 

Sure enough, she began to talk incessantly about him, and I could stand, smile, think about the coins I’d stolen, hid expertly in the lining of my bra. I knew I could at least get two cookies, which might be enough carbs and sugar to tide me over until dinner… although I couldn’t linger long at the club meeting today.

 

He had warned me. Proficiently.

 

“Are you even _listening,_ Nat?” The other girl complained.

 

I forced a laugh. “Of course, Shion. I’m just thinking about—”

 

“Your _manga_?” One of the other girls—a girl named Rika, that I borderline hated—said, her smile like a fox’s. “Which one is it this time? The sixth-grade one, or the fourth-grade?”

 

“Shut up.” I turned away, energy exhausted. “I’m going to class. The bell’s about to ring anyway.”

 

They giggled as I walked away—some of it good-natured, some of it…

 

Bitchy.

 

My eyes burned, but it pissed me off that I’d started crying over something so stupid.

 

 _Why, why, why_ , I thought, biting my lip in a feeble attempt to keep it inside. _Why is it all happening today? What did I do to deserve this?_

 

* * *

 

The literature club meeting had seemed almost out of reach. I almost staggered into the room, plopped into my customary desk, and relaxed for the first time since I’d woken up. Everything seemed a little blurry around the edges, but otherwise, I felt much better than I had the morning before.

 

Sayori, with her little friend, was raising her voice to an annoying high-pitched volume. “But I forgot to eat breakfast this _morningggg_ ,” she cried, employing puppy-dog eyes to cajole him.

 

“Yeah? Well, use your own allowance.”

  
  
“I used it up already,” she said, her voice practically a wail.

 

I resisted the urge to grit my teeth. I liked Sayori, but she complained about being hungry so often that I had a hard time not holding it against her. In a flash of good-intentioned fury, I opened my bag, picked one of my two precious cellophane-wrapped cookies, and chucked it at her face.

 

 _Plop!_ The plastic clung, but she snatched it before it fell on the floor and broke. “Eh? Where did—”

  
  
“You’re welcome,” I said, rising from my desk and sauntering over. Her boyfriend’s eyes widened. “You’re lucky I decided to share with you.”

 

“Ahh! Natsuki, you’re a life saver!” Unexpectedly, she grabbed me around the waist, squeezing my ribcage.

  
  
“That’s enough,” I gasped, shoving her away from me. “Eat your damn cookie and be happy!”

 

“You don’t even deserve that, Sayori,” her friend grumbled. His eyes were almost hidden by a shelf of dark bangs, but I could tell he was annoyed.

  
  
“That’s right,” came a calmer, more serene voice. Yuri, who rarely joined in activities like this one, had appeared by his side. She brushed a lock of her violet hair away from her face, wearing her sanctimonious expression. “You attempted to use trickery to get him to buy you a snack.”

  
  
“Natsuki’s just nice,” Sayori practically sang, ripping the wrapper away from the cookie and taking a bite.

  
  
“That’s debatable,” her friend muttered. I shot him a glare that I hoped was full of vitriol; in all honesty, I was having a hard time concentrating on anything except for the cookie she was eating. Why had I given it to her? I could be so stupid sometimes…

  
  
“That was nice of you,” Yuri said, coming to my side. Her expression still retained its condescending cast, but… her eyes were warm, approachable.

  
  
“Well… thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Have you worked on that poem I mentioned?”

  
  
She drew back slightly, looking startled. “I… I have, some. Have you?”

  
  
I thought about the draft on my desk, buried under a carefully-arranged pile of calculus homework. Couldn't chance  _him_ seeing something like that. “Yeah… I guess I have, a little bit.” I ducked my head, trying to hide my face. Why was I blushing? The idea irritated me. Yuri pushing my buttons _again_. And she was actually being nice!

  
  
“That’s nice to hear.” She put her arms behind her back and looked at the floor. At a loss for words, I supposed. I had nothing else to say to her. I felt uncomfortable standing around with her looking at me… like _that_ … anyway.

  
  
“Okay. Well, talk to you later.” I strutted away, touching my cheek as I stalked away from her.

  
  
It was hot to the touch.

  
  
_Stop being such a… an idiot,_ I told myself, reaching into my bag for the poem I’d written that day. _Blushing over Yuri… what’s the point?_

 

What was the point, indeed.


	4. After School Activities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's fantasy takes a surprising turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mind the trigger warnings! [self-harm] and the rating! :)

You get used to certain things when you’re a loner. You get used to people snickering behind your back; you get used to people ignoring you or dismissing what you say when you try to speak. You get used to the looks of pity, the looks of arrogance. Eventually, you build a resistance to things like that.

  
  
One thing I’d never gotten used to, though, was seeing people walk home together after the final school bell rang. There was something tantalizing—and agonizing—about seeing groups of friends, side by side, their bodies taking up a sizable swath of sidewalk. Hearing the raucous song of their laughter piercing the afternoon air. The couples were worse—holding hands, speaking in low murmurs, necks bent.

  
  
Especially now that I’d joined the literature club, and that I’d met _him_ … that loneliness ached in me like nothing I’d felt before.

  
  
To make matters worse? He walked home with _Sayori._

  
  
I sat in my customary desk while the literature club came to a predictable end: Monika announced that the club meeting was over, and everyone began to reluctantly pack their things.

  
  
Everyone, that was, except for Sayori. Her cheeks were flushed with anticipation; she packed her papers hastily, messily stuffing them into her messenger bag. _She doesn’t even care that her homework will be unreadable by tomorrow,_ I thought uncharitably.

  
  
He stopped in front of her desk, apparently thinking the same thing I had been. I strained my hearing, bowing my head to gather my things as slowly as I could. I wanted to hear them.

  
  
“You’re really just going to put your papers in there like that?” He sounded like he was teasing her. “Not even a folder?”

  
  
“I don’t have a folder,” Sayori chirped. “Is that something everyone is supposed to have?”

  
  
“Um… yes?” He ruffled her hair. _Like a brother,_ I decided. _That’s how he treats her. Like they’re brother and sister._

  
  
Relief flooded through me. There wasn’t anything there—there couldn’t be.

  
  
“Ready to walk home?” He nudged Sayori, who leaped to her feet, graceless as ever—but full of an energy that I could never match.

  
  
“Yupp!” She turned to the rest of us, waving cheekily. “Bye, everyone! See you tomorrow!”

  
  
“Goodbye,” I managed; he turned back towards me, amber eyes gleaming. He gave me a small wave that sent a thrill down my spine.

  
  
_It was worth it for that,_ I thought, feeling somewhat more confident. I’d seen… something in his face, hadn’t I? Something. Whatever that could be.

  
  
Behind me, Natsuki begrudgingly began to put her things into her bag. She was noisy about it, punctuating her gestures with dramatic sighs.

  
  
Meanwhile, Monika, bent at the waist, was looking out of the classroom’s window. She seemed to have forgotten that Natsuki and I were still here.

  
  
“Hey,” Natsuki said, her small hand on my shoulder. I whipped around, nearly surprised out of my skin at both her voice and her touch.

  
  
“Oh—hey,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “What is it?”

  
  
She looked flustered; she glanced at Monika, then at the classroom door. “Well. I was wondering if you wanted to walk home together? I don’t know which direction you live in, but I figure we could walk part of the way.”

  
  
I must have shown my surprise on my face, which—well—wasn’t unheard of. I wasn’t good at concealing my emotions.

  
  
From the looks of it, neither was Natsuki. She flushed a deep red and crossed her arms under her small breasts. Despite her tough posing, she looked just as cutesy as she always did. “Um, well, you don’t have to. I was just—I just figured, since you didn’t—”

 

“That would be nice, actually,” I interrupted her, trying for enthusiasm. “I don’t normally walk home with anyone, so…”

  
  
“I know,” she said, smiling slyly.

  
  
_Oh._ “Well.” I straightened my back. She wasn’t going to drop her attitude, I supposed, but why should I have expected her to? “Let’s go, then. We can at least walk together until we have to part ways.”

  
  
“Fine.” Natsuki hopped across her desk to follow me outside of the classroom. I took another look at Monika, wondering what she was watching outside of the window.

  
  
But I had a feeling I knew.  


* * *

The first few minutes Natsuki and I walked together were spent in somewhat tense silent. I felt awkward spending time around her without the rest of the club members; after all, we didn’t really know each other that well, and what time we _did_ spend together we usually spent arguing.

  
The air felt nice, though, with only the hint of an autumn chill; otherwise, the sun warmed the roots of my hair and the exposed parts of my legs. Fall was my favorite season; it was the perfect blend of melancholy and brightness. I wrote the majority of my poetry during the autumn season, it seemed.  
  
  
“Whatcha thinking about?” Natsuki interrupted, looking up at me.

  
  
“Oh. Well, um… I was thinking about autumn,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

  
  
Instead of ridiculing me, she looked thoughtful. “Oh, I guess it is about that time. Is it your favorite season?”

  
  
“It is. How did you guess?”

  
  
“I mean. It’s a 25% guess for anyone. But you seem like the kind of person who would like fall. It’s all gloomy and dark, like you.” She flashed a smile that pretended to be mean-spirited but really wasn’t.

  
  
I chuckled. “I suppose your favorite is summer, then?”

  
  
“Uh—yeah, actually. Why do you say that?”

  
  
I shrugged, not thinking before I opened my mouth. “I suppose it seems like you. Bright. It can be harsh and uncomfortable, but it can also be fun and—” I stopped, feeling my face grow hot. _What am I talking about? What am I saying?_

 __  
  
Natsuki looked pleased, though. “You think I’m fun?”

  
  
“I—I mean, you haven’t really shown me that,” I pointed out, hoping she hadn’t noticed my blush. “You’re usually not all that nice to me, or anyone else in the club, for that matter.”

  
  
“True.” She laughed. The sound was, like her smile, mean-spirited, but it made me smile. She seemed sincere. “Maybe I’ll try and lighten up. But that means you have to! Miss Dark and Broody.”

  
  
I considered this. “Perhaps you’re right. In any case, my home is just ahead.” I nodded towards my house, which stood on the corner of the street. “Do you have far to walk?”

  
  
She shook her head. “Not too far. And it’s early enough to where I won’t get in—” she stopped herself, looking surprised. “—Um, it’s still early. So… I’ll see you tomorrow for club, I guess. Don’t forget the poem!”

  
  
I nodded, watching her stalk away. Her skirt seemed shorter than it did on the other girls, but I figured it was just an illusion—after all, her body was slight, and her torso seemed longer than her legs… when the wind flared around her, I could see just a glimpse of her panties, pink, almost like her hair.

 

 _Why am I even looking?_ I turned away abruptly, putting a hand to my face. _I don’t have much time. I need to finish that poem and—_

 

Of course, there was something I needed to do first.

  
  
Well. Not need.

  
  
Something I _wanted_ to do first.

 

* * *

 

In the dark of my room, the blade bit at my wrist. I hissed quietly, a surge of warmth radiating from my arm and down my body.

  
  
My legs trembled, knees gelatinous as if from orgasm. I had indulged myself in this ritual since _he_ had come into my life—although I hadn’t started because of him. It was something I’d directed my anxious energies into long ago.

  
  
It was just that now… now they had a purpose. A focus.

  
  
I thought of him, warm, glowing golden eyes, the light tawny skin on his face, the way his face scrunched when he smiled. Would he look at me that way when he held me, touched me?

  
  
The knife came again, quicker to meet my skin, but slower to bring blood. I gasped, my heart thudding audibly.

  
  
But this time, I thought of Natsuki—her thin white legs flashing under her skirt, white knee socks almost blending with her flesh. A peek of her underwear, pink, lacy—

 

I felt warm, too warm. I sat up, shocked, and set the blade on my nightstand.

  
  
_That’s never happened before._ I put my palm against my chest, willing myself to calm down.

  
  
_Breathe. Breathe._

 __  
  
Natsuki? I glanced at my desk, where the unfinished poem sat, begging me to edit it.

  
  
_Why her? Why—_

I stopped my thoughts, pressing my hand harder against my heart.

  
  
_Breathe._


	5. Yet We Still Build Sand Castles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki and Yuri share their poems.

I woke up thirty minutes before my alarm clock went off. My sleep had been restless, filled with meaningless shapes, shadows, faces. I propped myself up on my elbow, peering through the darkness to find my phone. The screen lit up when I grabbed it. 5:00 am.

 

 _Might as well just get up,_ I thought, stretching. I winced as I raised my arms; there was a spot under my left breast that still ached. I pulled my nightgown up, frowning at myself in the mirror across from my bed.

 

Sure enough, an ink-like smudge of bruised flesh marred the skin below my bra. I rested my hand there, lightly, remembering how I’d earned this particular badge of honor.

 

_“Who’s this about? Some boy?”_

My poem, wrinkled in his furious fist. I’d cried, begging him not to ruin it—it was my only copy, just a rough draft.

 

_“It’s not—I promise!”_

He hadn’t believed me. I didn’t blame him—not for that, anyway. I blushed myself when I read back over the lines I’d written. It was warm, bright, friendly—maybe even romantic, although I wasn’t sure I’d meant it to read that way. I’d wanted to evoke the feelings you get when you’re at the beach, sand warm between your toes, gulls squealing and weaving through the clouds, ocean lapping lazily at your ankles.

 

 _“Sure. Why else would you write this…”_ he’d peered back at it, smudged and torn, _“girly shit?”_

He smacked me with the fist it was clutched in, right below my breast, and as I crumpled to the floor, struggling for breath, he ripped the sheet of paper in half and let the pieces fall onto my body.

 

I’d managed to tape it up enough to recreate it, though it took a careful hour and thirty minutes to make sure I was getting the lines right. When I was finally satisfied, I’d gone to bed, anxious about what everyone would think about my poem—especially Yuri, who I’d specifically asked to write about the same thing.

 

 _I hope she didn’t forget,_ I thought, shedding my nightgown. _I’m gonna be really embarrassed if she does._

 

I buttoned my shirt, mindful of my bruise, and thought of the trouble I’d be in if my father knew who I’d _really_ written the poem for.

 

 _Is it really such a bad thing?_ I thought defiantly. _So what if she’s a girl, too. She’s in love with that stupid guy in our club anyway. It doesn’t matter_ who _I wrote it for._

 

Before leaving, I carefully slid the sheet of paper into a pink folder decorated with cats. _Here goes nothing,_ I thought.

 

* * *

 

The day inched by, each second taking an eternity to pass by. I tried not to doze off in literature class as the instructor stepped outside for a moment. It was hard to focus on the words in front of me; everything had begun to blur together. Hunger, of course, will do that to you.

 

“Hey,” Shion said, turning around in her seat. Her face lit up. “Did you see? Satoshi asked me to walk home with him last period! I said yes, of course.” Her gaze shifted, gleefully, to the quiet dark-haired boy in the corner of the room. He was chatting with his own friends, shyly glancing her direction when he figured he could chance it.

 

“That’s cool.” I yawned against the back of my hand. “So are you guys, like, dating now?”

 

“I’m going to tell him how I feel today,” she said gleefully.

 

“Well. Let me know what happens.”

 

“Of course.” She narrowed her eyes at me, suddenly shrewd. “You haven’t talked about anyone in a long time, Natsuki. What gives? Who’s your crush?”

 

I frowned at her. “What makes you think I have one? I’m too busy for that stuff.”

 

“Oh _really_? Where were you yesterday evening? Rika and I wanted to walk home with you, but you were already gone. We waited for your meeting to be over and everything!”

 

I froze, trying to remain calm. “So I walked home with someone from the club. It’s no big deal. I didn’t know you guys were waiting for me.”

 

She leaned forward. “Oh? Who was it? That cute boy in the year above us?”

 

“No, stupid.”

 

“Then… who was it? Isn’t the rest of your club girls?” She looked bewildered.

 

“Yeah. Yuri and I walked home together. I figured, since we lived in the same direction—”

 

Shion interrupted me, her eyes gleaming with this new information. “ _Yuri_? You can’t mean… that weirdo who cuts herself on her arms! You guys are besties now?”

 

I scowled at her, my anger rising quickly—too quickly. “Mind your own business for once!” I snapped. “You don’t know anything about her, so stop listening to Rika’s gossip and get a life!”

 

Shion regarded me with cool and curious eyes, sitting back in her chair.

 

“Hm. Okay. Suit yourself.” She turned her back on me pointedly.

 

My shoulders sagged, mind trying to keep up with what had just happened. I’d heard the rumors, of course. Shion herself had told me, gleeful, that Yuri sometimes even cut herself in the bathroom at school. But how would she even know that?

  
  
I’d known Yuri for longer than they had, and I’d never seen any cuts. It was a stupid rumor. Besides, the only kind of people who did that stuff were… disturbed.

 

Yuri was weird, but she wasn’t… _weird._

 

And even if she was…

 

I glanced at the folder tucked into my bag, at the pink slit holding Yuri’s poem.

 

_Well, I’m weird too, I guess._

 

* * *

 

I was second to arrive at the club meeting. Yuri was there, sitting at her desk, reading some thick novel with an intense expression.

 

I thought about sitting at my normal desk, which was behind and to the left of Yuri’s, but then I thought about my conversation with Shion earlier. About her—well, her… activities.

 

 _Maybe if she just had someone to talk to, she wouldn’t do stuff like that,_ I thought. _Or—well, I don’t even know that she does it._

I sighed to myself. _Who cares._ With renewed confidence, I moved my stuff into the seat next to her own and plopped down.

 

She looked up, surprised. “Oh. Hello, Natsuki.”

 

“Hi.” I crossed my legs under my desk, suddenly self-conscious. Her expression was neutral, neither pleased nor displeased at my presence. “What’re you reading?”

 

“Um.” She flipped the book to the front cover, as though she’d forgotten the title. _Stupid,_ I thought. “It’s an old favorite of mine. It’s called _Portrait of Markov._ ”

 

The cover was black, decorated with a scarlet eye. “Looks creepy,” I observed. “Seems like something you’d like.”

 

“I suppose it’s not to your taste,” Yuri said, her voice lightly amused. “So, I’m assuming you wrote the poem we agreed upon for today?”

 

“Yes. You did, too, right?”

 

“Of course.” She looked up as Sayori and her friend entered the room. Her expression grew misty and dreamlike almost at once; I felt myself becoming upset.

 

“Okay… good. Well, I look forward to reading it.” Abruptly, I jumped out of my seat, back to my own desk.

 

 _If she’s just gonna sit there and make puppy dog eyes at him… then I’m not gonna bother,_ I thought, letting my irritation consume me. The day’s events—the bruise, the poem, defending her to Shion—boiled under the surface of my skin like water left too long on the stove.

 

“I wonder where Monika is,” the boy said nonchalantly, loud enough to make it seem like he was addressing all three of us. “Isn’t she usually here before everyone?”

 

“That’s true,” Yuri said, leaning forward so that her face was cradled in her hands. Her hair hung attractively around her face and chest. “I wonder what’s taking her so long?”

 

Sayori cocked her head to the side. “I’ll bet she has a boyfriend!”

 

I shrugged. I didn’t care where Monika was or wasn’t, but I figured I should make an effort to be in the conversation. “Probably. I mean, it’s Monika.”

 

Yuri glanced at the door. “That’s true. She’s more appealing than the three of us combined.”

 

I nodded and noticed that Sayori did as well.

 

Her friend looked bewildered at Yuri’s statement. “What? That’s not—”

 

“Hey, guys!” Monika practically leaped through the door, looking flustered. It was the first time I’d seen her like that; regardless, her face was still a lovely shade of petal-pink, and her hair was smooth, falling delicately behind her. Even in a hurry, she was perfect.

 

 _Must be nice,_ I thought, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Are we sharing poems now?”

 

“Yes, of course! Thank you all for waiting for me. I lost track of time, is all.” She looked specifically at the boy beside Sayori. “I was practicing piano in study hall.”

 

He flushed under her intense green gaze. “Piano, huh? You’ll have to play for us sometime.”

 

“Of course. After I get a bit better, that is.” She laughed, tilting her head at him. _So flirtatious,_ I thought, amused. _Give the little guy a break, Monika. You’ll break him with all of that!_

“So, did you want to share poems first?” Yuri had risen and come to my desk. Her poem was crisp and unwrinkled between her fingers.

 

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” I fished mine out of my bag, careful not to mess it up.

 

Yuri’s poem was written in her cramped cursive, but I’d grown accustomed to it. I’d even started thinking it was kind of pretty, although I knew she did it for the aesthetic more than anything else. _Just like everything about her._

 

Sure enough, it was titled, “Beach.” I read it slowly, feeling my heart skip a few beats.

 

It was by far the best poem of hers that I’d read so far.

 

Yuri looked back down at me after a few moments, her face mystified. “This is actually quite a solid poem. But… what is it about?”

 

“The beach?” I stared at her, wondering what she was getting at.

 

“No, I mean… it’s clearly _about_ someone. You’re clearly talking about someone here.” She tapped her finger against my poem. “If the voice is _you_ , then the subject is…” she glanced at Sayori and her friend, reading together in the corner. Her eyes flashed back at me, filled with anger and an emotion I recognized well.

 

Jealousy.

 

“What, you think I wrote it for _him_?” I hissed, feeling myself bristle under her gaze. “What a load of bullshit! Not everything has to be about _him_ , for god’s sake!”

 

Yuri, taken aback, glanced at the floor. She seemed ashamed. “I’m sorry, I—”

 

“Forget it.” I snatched my poem out of her hand and shoved her own back at her. “You clearly don’t understand anything I write. There’s no point.”

 

I sat down, my rage burning. Why had I let myself think…

 

There was that line in her poem that had caught my attention, just for a moment… “The easiest world to get lost in/is one where everything can be found.”

 

I remembered that she’d compared me to summer, the sun, the beach, the tide.

 

But it was useless. She would never think of anyone but him.

 

I tried not to let anyone see the tears in my eyes.

 

 _I just want this day to be over,_ I thought, fighting my sudden misery.


	6. Our Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri punishes herself.

Scarlet beaded at the wound I’d just drawn across the pale skin of my left wrist. A single fat drop rolled across my white flesh, stained the skin a muted rust where it had traveled. I brought my arm to my lips, tongued the blood drop. It tasted of metallic nothingness. A full flavor—but empty in its own way.

 

 _I deserve it,_ I thought, my head spinning. I normally made a point not to cut myself after I felt I’d done something wrong. It could turn into what I considered self-destructive behavior, and I feared that a self-punishing aspect could be detrimental. But…

 

 _What a day._ I set the knife—this one small, pocket-knife sized, with a moonstone embedded in the handle—on my nightstand. The cut bubbled over with fresh blood. I licked at it again, this time almost absently. The faint taste of salt and copper sat, heavy, on the surface of my tongue. It was a primal taste, vaguely sexual—but only in its implication.

 

And what an implication it was. _Natsuki._ An uncomfortable feeling settled over me like a cloud of dust. The two of us weren’t friends, necessarily, but over the past week—especially after that strange day that she’d walked me home—I’d found myself thinking of her with growing fondness.

 

 _What a lie,_ I thought. My mind flashed back to that night—me, a sickeningly intense pulse between my legs as I slid a blade over my forearm, thinking of the lace edging of her panties beneath her windblown skirt.

 

 _Sick._ I brushed the hair from my eyes, trying to ignore the heat rushing into my cheeks. _I’m sick. Sick._

This wasn’t a secret or even a surprise to me, but this particular acknowledgment felt different. I feared to even consider the possibility that I could be sexually attracted to girls as well as boys—and especially to someone I knew, to someone I’d previously disliked…

 

_But it feels different, doesn’t it?_

 

To _him_ , of course. And it _did_ feel different—didn’t it? My feelings for the boy in the literature club were maddening, obsessive. My feelings about Natsuki were… confusing. Startling. Whereas my attraction to him felt like a fire—consuming—any attraction I might have had to Natsuki felt softer, quieter…

 

…But more persistent. Like something nagging at my brain. When I was around her, I still found it hard to stifle my feelings of annoyance with her attitude. My feelings for _him_ were something I used to get me through the day, something I chased, an indulgence.

 

I felt myself constantly running from any lingering thoughts of Natsuki that attempted to lodge themselves in my brain.

 

 _I hurt her feelings today._ Yes, I had. I’d accused her of writing that poem for my crush, and she’d become incredibly defensive. That was Natsuki, of course; she couldn’t help but flare up at those who threatened her, no matter how small the infraction.

 

But she hadn’t written the poem for him, had she?

 

 _Then who?_ I licked the cut again. It was mostly dry now. I’d lost the urge to cut myself, which was relieving, but I’d also worn myself out, thinking about the two very different people I’d found myself torn between.

 

Was there actually something wrong with me? Could there be a split in my brain somewhere that divided my affections into such distinct categories? Men and women, kindness and fury. The gentleness that he offered me…

 

…And that feeling that she inspired in me.

 

That feeling—what words were there for it? Even I, the poet, could find nothing for the way I felt when I was around her.

 

If he and I had fire between us, then Natsuki and I… we had some kind of electricity. Something enlivening, almost painful… but rejuvenating.

 

I fingered the puffy red line I’d created, relishing the fresh sting.

 

 _I’ll have to make it up to her,_ I thought. _But what can I do that won’t be obvious—or, for that matter, won’t upset her?_

I remembered her expression, falling, crushed, like a sand dune collapsing under someone’s body. Her rose-colored eyes gleaming with tears—the angry kind, the kind that only people who had trouble expressing their emotions got.

 

I’d wanted to do something _real_ to apologize to her, but she’d been so upset that she’d merely stalked away from me. I’d been left to my own devices, my own thoughts.

 

 _I should write her something,_ I thought. _Or, well, maybe not. It didn’t go so well today. What can I do to make her understand that I’m sorry?_

I pressed my hands over my face, suppressing a groan. Why were women so complicated? Why were my _feelings_ so complicated?

 

Nothing was as it had been, whatever the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short but i'm still forcing myself to write through a pretty bad case of writer's block lmao.


	7. Black Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Natsuki's surprise, Yuri makes a peace offering.

I looked at the poem I’d written for Yuri. I could only barely make out the words from under the gentle glow of my desk lamp. The house was quiet; my dad slept soundly in his own room, down the hall from mine. I fingered the smooth surface of the paper, careful to prevent any loud crinkling noises.

 

What I really wanted to do was loudly tear it to shreds. I wanted to put my hurt somewhere, somewhere where I wouldn’t have to feel it anymore, where it could seethe and blister away from me, peeling away like blackened paper from a flame.

 

 _Haven’t I hurt enough?_ I clawed at my eyes, which were tearing up despite my tenacious desire to not cry. It was a lesson I’d learned well—never let anyone see your pain, see your tears. It could incite violence, in some cases. In others…

 

I remembered my mother, weak in her hospital bed, IV hanging limply from her bandaged arm.

 

 _“Does it hurt, Mama?”_ My tiny hand in her own. She’d held it so limply.

 

At my question, her eyes, dark pink, began to stream. The rest of her face remained undisturbed, but her eyes leaked and reddened.

 

She died in the hospital, not on that particular trip, but another. She’d tried everything she could to get away from us—my father and I—and in the end, she’d poisoned her own body.

 

I’d been young, too young for it to hurt more than a little. But to this day, crying like that—that silent crying, too drawn and weak even to sob—reminded me of her.

 

She’d cried like that because she didn’t want him to hear her—I still believed that.

 

It had become the way I cried as well, when I dared to allow myself. Sobs were an unearned gift, but I sometimes ached with the desire to cry loudly— _really loudly,_ choking and slobbering. I’d always imagined that it was so much more satisfying.

 

I scrubbed at my eyes, upset with myself. I hadn’t thought of her in so long… well, I hadn’t thought of her unintentionally in so long. And weren’t those the worst memories—those horrible ones that came unbidden, flying into your room like a phantom with a mournful face?

 

I exhaled, struggling for composure. I merely slipped the poem into my desk drawer. What would my mother think of me now? Writing stupid poems for socially inept girls. What a joke.

 

I was no anime dream girl, no matter how hard I tried. My ribs were showing. I hated taking my clothes off, avoided looking at myself in the mirror. I was so careful with my hair, my mascara, my blush, but nothing could hide what I really was.

 

That’s why Yuri still hated me.

 

I clenched my fists. _There’s no reason for me to be this upset,_ I thought. _I’ll be fine. Everything will be perfectly fine._

 

I looked into my vanity mirror. Pink hair like my mother’s, pink eyes glowing with tears in the lamp light. I wondered if she’d be able to put a hand on my shoulder, let me cry into her blouse, if she’d understand what I was feeling right now.

 

_Oh well._

 

* * *

 

I immediately went to the closet after arriving at the clubroom. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, and I knew that if I buried myself in a manga in the dark confines of the closet, no one would be likely to bother me.

 

I settled myself into a dusty corner and let myself breathe. The day had creaked by; I’d endured every minute, every passing hour, with dread. I wasn’t enjoying myself anymore. _All because I got my feelings hurt,_ I thought, thumbing through a copy of an old series I used to enjoy. I traced the girls on the sleek cover, wondering to myself.

 

 _I guess there was a reason I used to read girly stuff like this all the time… even now._ The thought made me blush. It was hard to think of myself as a girl who—well, who liked other girls. It was an idea I’d never dare to entertain, would never have even thought to entertain. My friends spent all their days giggling over male classmates, while I spent mine in a starving haze, wondering if some loser liked my poems or not…

 

“Natsuki?” A soft voice came from the closet door. Yuri. I felt a flash of irritation.

 

“What?”

 

“Um… can I come in?”

 

“Duh. I don’t _own_ the closet.” _Idiot,_ I thought, setting my manga aside. Yuri peered inside, looking intensely uncomfortable. Her face was almost entirely obscured by her hair—but for her dark eyes that gleamed in the dusky glow of the closet.

 

“Oh. What are you doing sitting on the floor down there?”

 

“I _was_ reading, until I was interrupted.” I looked away. “What do you want? Is it time to share poems or what?”

 

“N-no,” she said, sounding taken aback. “I was just thinking…”

 

I looked up at her face. It was white like the moon. “What?”

 

“I just wanted to apologize… for upsetting you yesterday. I should have known better.” She blushed, staring at the floor. “Sometimes I… I get caught up in my thoughts, and I say things without thinking about them first.”

 

I tried to refrain from smirking. _Yeah, no shit._ “It’s fine. I don’t really care.”

 

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Well… you seemed to care yesterday, so… anyway, I made you some tea. I thought maybe you’d like some.”

 

I perked up. “You did? What kind?”

 

“Black tea. I put some sugar in—is that alright?”

 

My stomach grumbled weakly at the thought. _It’ll probably even tide me over until dinner,_ I thought, trying to resist my excitement. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you.” I stood and stretched, then remembered my manga volume. “Oh, hold on. Let me put this away for a second.”

 

I bent over to grab the book before I realized that Yuri was still behind me. I snapped upright and turned around to where she still stood. Her face was scarlet—she’d just been looking at me! Bending over in front of her!

 

“You mind?” I said, but my own face was probably even redder than hers.

 

“I—I’m sorry! I’ll go get the tea!” She whipped around almost before I could say anything else.

 

I was left standing in the dark of the closet. My heart was beating too loudly. I wanted to burst into flames from the embarrassment—but—

 

I brought my hands to my face, hiding the smile that had broken, unbidden, across it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully now that my writer's block/wifi issues are getting resolved, i can start updating this more frequently! i'd love to thank everyone for reading and being patient. :)


	8. Within the Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri receives an invitation.

“Let me put these away.” Natsuki bent over in front of me, her arms reaching for the abandoned manga volume on the closet floor. Her skirt rose, only barely covering her butt cheeks; the flash of white lace I got transfixed me.

 

 _Don’t stare, don’t stare,_ I thought, but it was almost magnetic; I’d never seen a woman (girl?) in lingerie before, and the way the lace clung to the pale flesh was unexpectedly mesmerizing. You could see a lot of curves, a lot of intricacies—

 

“You mind?” She snapped at me. Her face was a shade of pink only slightly paler than her hair.

 

I thought the flesh on my face was going to melt away from the skull beneath it. _She saw you. She sees you._ Natsuki stared at me, her face struggling to hide its surprise with a fog of annoyance.

 

Bile rose in my throat. _Holy shit._ I drew back, sweat beading at my hairline. “I—I’m sorry!” My words fell over one another, like a crowd in a building on fire, trying to squeeze itself out of the only exit.

 

I fled from the closet, hands at my chest. My skin felt slick with embarrassment.

 

 _Great going,_ I thought, biting my lip. _I was supposed to be reconciling, and now…_ She thinks I’m a pervert, I thought despairingly.

 

 _Well… you are._ I looked at my hands before scrubbing them against the fabric of my skirt. _No time to be bashful._ I went to the front of the room, where the teapot steamed quietly.

 

Monika noticed me coming from the closet; she tilted her head, her face openly curious. “Is she okay?” she murmured this to me, as if worried she’d evoke Natsuki’s wrath. Or a tantrum. Either or.

 

“She’s fine,” I said, trying for a smile. It felt as slippery as everything else on me. “I’m just going to bring her some tea. You know, to relax and maybe come join the rest of us…” _Shut up, idiot. Stop talking! What are you even saying?_

Monika leaned back, palms flat against the desk behind her. “Well. Okay. Just try not to be too long, okay? We’re going to start club activities in a bit.”

 

“Of course,” I said, trying to hide my relief. I wouldn’t be stranded alone with her for too long, then…

 

Why did I feel so flustered? When I was away from her, it was so easy to look at our relationship critically, quizzically. It was easy to examine and pick apart and plan for… but looking at her, being next to her, seeing the cleft of her bottom flowing around the tight white lace of her underwear…

 

I looked into the cup of tea I’d just poured. _What is wrong with me?_ I resisted the urge to cover my face. I _knew_ I was blushing; I could feel the heat. It was an inferno in my cheekbones, radiating fire down my chest and nether regions.

 

_There’s a lot wrong with me._

I took the cups of tea—one with a packet of sugar cracked into it, one black—and walked back to the closet.

 

Natsuki was sitting again, but her manga had been put away. I tilted my head towards the classroom, but she patted the ground beside her.

 

“I just kind of want a minute away,” she explained. “You don’t have to be here, though. If you don’t want.”

 

“N—no, it’s okay.” I bent at the waist, handing her the teacup. She reached for it. Her eyes went to my wrist—I could see her doing it—and I resisted the urge to snatch at the sleeve there.

 

 _Could she see something?_ After she took the cup from me, I made sure to glance at my arm. It didn’t look like anything was visible. _Good. I mean… I’m sure she wouldn’t be surprised, but… Natsuki doesn’t seem like the type to be into freaks…_

I brushed the thought aside. “Is it okay?”

 

She pursed her lips together. They were thin, but they were coated in some kind of pink gloss. I wondered, briefly, if she were the kind of girl to wear flavored gloss. I swallowed, hoped it wasn’t audible.

 

“It’s good,” she announced, smiling at me. Her teeth were bleach-white in the dusk of the closet. “Thanks, Yuri. I haven’t eaten much today.”

 

“Why not?” I asked. She seemed to regret her word choice, though; she glanced back down into the dark depths of her tea, face stiff.

 

“Oh. Well, I don’t eat much during the day,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. A lot of people do that, you know.”

 

“Is it a… diet?” I sat next to her, making sure to leave ample space between our thighs. I set my own teacup next to her own. There was a faint pink shine on the rim of her cup. _If it weren’t weird, I’d kiss it away,_ I thought, almost absently.

 

“Wh—a what? I don’t need to diet,” she huffed.

 

“No, I didn’t mean… I just wondered. I know a lot of girls diet, so… I don’t know.” I lowered my head, afraid to look her way. “I didn’t mean it like that. Trust me.”

 

Natsuki slumped in place, seemingly okay with my explanation. “No, I’m not dieting. On purpose.” She let the last word linger in the air between us.

 

I glanced at her, wondering what she could mean by that. She looked pensive, peering into the stacks of books before us. _Does she mean…_ I wondered if she could have an eating disorder. I knew of them, of course. They were fairly prevalent in high school girls… but Natsuki was so short and small…

 

“Anyway. I have a question to ask. I guess.” She glanced at me. I tried to meet her gaze with some assurance.

 

“Okay. What is it?”

 

“I was wondering… maybe you’d like to come over some weekend? I was thinking I could teach you how to bake.” Her face was bright with embarrassment.

 

_Oh my._

 

I imagined us, bent over at some work station, rolling dough, our fingers maybe grazing, flour everywhere…

 

 _How could I survive such an event?_ I thought.

 

But… on the other hand… it would make her feel better, wouldn’t it?

 

 _It’s likely she just wants to make friends,_ I thought, trying to calm my racing heart.

 

“That sounds fun. When would you like to do it?”

 

She pulled her knees towards me so that she was facing me completely. They were locked together—presumably so I couldn’t look at her underwear.

 

“Well… give me your number. Then I can text you. I mean, you’re a grade above me, so I never see you except for in the club.”

 

_She wants my number?_

 

Maybe Natsuki didn’t realize how… how _flirtatious_ she was being?

 

 _Maybe it isn’t flirtatious to girls who aren’t into girls,_ I thought. My mind burned with the possibilities.

 

“Okay. Text me, then.” Monika’s voice called to us from outside the closet; we met eyes, and in one tiny moment, both of us laughed.

 

“Fine.” She stood, careful to keep her legs close this time. She reached for my hand when she stood. “Let’s go.”

 

I reached for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no wi-fi still, but hopefully that'll change soon. hope you enjoy ;;


	9. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki tries to think of a way to soothe Yuri's nerves.

My kitchen was quiet, but for the metal _clink_ of a mixing spoon against a batter-filled bowl.

 

The silence was getting to me. I didn’t want to acknowledge the tension, because that usually made it worse—right?—but it didn’t seem like Yuri was going to. And like hell if I was going to stand in my own kitchen, quiet, just because Yuri was mixing flour like a mobile statue in a horror game.

 

She’d arrived at noon, promptly, which I’d originally thought was funny. I’d told her to come over _around_ noon, but I sort of figured that she’d show up on the dot. She’d arrived dressed in a cream-colored sweater that would be shapeless on any girl _but_ her. She stood quietly around, arms behind her back, waiting for me to tell her what to do.

 

 _Not exactly going the way I thought it would,_ I thought, frowning and pulling away from the counter. I’d gotten a bit of egg yolk on my white blouse—go figure. I _never_ spilled or made a mess, but Yuri was making me so damn nervous.

 

Trying to bite back my annoyance, I said, “I’m going to the restroom real quick. Keep mixing that until there aren’t any lumps in it. Got it?”

 

She nodded, face tight with concentration. She was _concentrating_ on stirring batter. _Ugh._

 

I stepped into the bathroom and started to scrub at the spot on my blouse with a damp washrag. The yolk came away, but the water made the material transparent. I bit my lip. _Why did I wear a black bra today?_ The stark contrast between the black lace on my left bra cup and the thin white fabric covering it… it wasn’t a good look. It was certainly not very modest.

 

 _I’m tired of all this modesty, anyway._ I sighed, wrung the washrag out in the sink, and studied my face. _Am I going to let Yuri come into my house and stand around like a weirdo?_

Of course I wasn’t. I straightened the folds of my skirt, then stalked back into the kitchen with determination.

 

To my surprise, Yuri had set the bowl of batter aside and was looking in one of the kitchen drawers.

 

“What are you looking for?”

 

Startled, she snapped to attention. Her cheeks crimsoned.

 

“I-I’m sorry! I was just looking at your… utensils…” She trailed off, rubbing one of her shoulders.

 

“My… utensils? Did you… need something, or…?” I glanced over to the drawer she’d been pawing through. It didn’t have anything special in it—just some mixing spoons and other miscellaneous things like that.

 

“N-no! I just… um, can we forget about it?”

 

She turned her back to me, focusing on the bowl of batter once more. I approached her, then snatched the bowl out of her hands.

 

“You don’t need to mix it anymore. Look! Didn’t I tell you not to overmix?”

 

“S-sorry,” she mumbled.

 

 _This is going… exactly how I should have imagined it._ I wanted to bury my face in my hands, but instead, I set the bowl on the countertop and tried for a friendly smile. It wasn’t my forte, and if anything, Yuri only seemed more flustered.

 

“Let’s let it rest for a minute,” I said. I supposed if she wasn’t going to do anything on her own that I would keep giving her orders. I certainly didn’t mind doing it—besides, at least it got things moving. “Did you want anything to drink? I don’t have a lot of stuff, but—”

 

“Oh, I can make us some tea, if you want!” She perked up.

 

I stifled the urge to laugh. “I don’t think we have any, actually. My dad doesn’t drink a lot of tea, believe it or not… so I don’t really keep any in stock.”

 

Her face fell. “Really? What does he drink, then?”

 

“Gin. Vodka. You know.” I said it without thinking; the look on her face told me I probably should have come up with another answer. “O-or just water, normally!”

 

She tilted her head to the side. “What do _you_ drink when you’re at home, then?”

 

“I guess I don’t drink anything but water.”

 

A strange look crossed her face, one that seemed almost ill-suited. “You don’t drink his liquor, then?”

 

 _What?_ I tried to hide my surprise with a laugh. “What? No way! I don’t drink that stuff!”

 

Yuri tilted her head, her expression still bizarre. Her eyes, like the lush petals of some exotic purple flower, were trained on me with an intensity that made me terribly self-conscious of my own facial expressions. _Why is she looking at me like that?_ “So you’ve never been intoxicated before?”

 

“N-no! What kind of girl do I look like to you?” I feigned anger, but I could feel some of the tension melting away from us.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Yuri said, losing her almost-mischievous expression. “I-I just was curious!”

 

“Well, you have your answer.” I crossed my arms under my breasts, suddenly intrigued. “Wait. Are you saying you have? Miss Goody-Goody herself?”

 

Her face paled, then scrunched in embarrassment. “I never said that!”

 

“But you have, haven’t you!” I leaned forward, gleeful with this information. I couldn’t believe that Yuri, of all people, had been drunk before! I was pretty sure Rika had been, but that was Rika. Yuri was the last person I would have expected to partake in underage drinking. “So, what did you drink? What happened? Who were you with?”

 

“I—” she glanced around, as if afraid someone would hear her. “It was, um… red wine. I was alone. I don’t drink a lot, but I do sometimes if I’m going to be in social situations.” Her color returned to the crowns of her cheekbones. She hung her head, shy. “I guess it calms my anxiety to have a little bit.”

 

I stared at her thoughtfully. “Red wine, huh? That sounds like you.” _Pretentious,_ I thought, but I thought it also just… suited her. I could imagine her pouring a small amount of dark red wine into her teacup, sipping it as though it were no different from the black tea she brewed in the clubroom. I wondered what it would taste like—musky, secretive, exciting. _Fitting._ “So you’ve been holding out on me, huh?”

 

Yuri leaned against the other countertop, hunching over slightly so that she could toy with her hair and shield her face from me at the same time. She seemed wildly uncomfortable to be discussing this with me. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Ever had gin?” I thought about the bottle in the freezer, untouched since the night before. The idea of drinking it scared me more than I could say—my father would… well. He wouldn’t have been happy at all if he found out.

 

 _But he isn’t here,_ I thought. And it was true. He’d left for a business trip Friday afternoon, and he wasn’t set to return until Sunday before dinner. _As long as we don’t drink too much, he might not even notice._

 

The idea of drinking alcohol—especially with Yuri, who might never have loosened up enough without it—filled me with an unexpected sanguine rush.

 

Yuri looked understandably appalled at my suggestion. “Gin? I—where—”

 

I snuck past her, bumping her gently with my hip. Of course, with how much taller she was then me, I only grazed her thigh, but she jumped back like she’d been burned. “Papa keeps some.” I grabbed the bottle, the frozen green glass smooth and tantalizing in my hands. “Wanna try it? Maybe it’ll help you relax a little.”

 

Yuri dropped her hands to her side. I was worried, for a moment, that I’d gone too far—that I’d scared the little deerling off into the forest again.

 

But she took the bottle from my hands. “Alright. Shall we have some while we wait for the cupcakes to bake, then?”

 

I couldn’t stop the overexcited grin from splitting my face. “Let me grab some ice cubes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was i the only one who was super amused at the little story monika told of yuri bringing wine to the classroom? hehe.
> 
> sorry for the long wait--i think i'm finally going to be able to keep consistent now. one can hope.
> 
> thanks as always!


	10. Dress Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki wants to play a game.

The first sip of Natsuki’s gin concoction had been terribly unpleasant; it burned my mouth, my throat, and left a strange sensation in my stomach. I’d choked it down without grace, and she’d noticed.

 

“Hey! It can’t be _that_ bad, you big baby.” Her face after sipping her own drink was hilariously cute—she scrunched up her entire face, like a child tasting something bitter.

 

“See? You can’t drink it either,” I’d admonished, trying to hide my smile.

 

“I can too!” And with that, she’d opened her throat and downed the rest of it.

 

Now I was sitting across from her in her living room, feeling pleasantly warm from sipping Natsuki’s gin drink. Natsuki herself was far drunker than I was—I suspected it had to do with her small stature and the way she’d poured the drink down her throat without ceremony.

 

I hadn’t expected myself to enjoy being intoxicated around Natsuki—after all, drinking leaves one without a certain number of defenses, and Natsuki, being an aggressive person, could hone in on others’ weaknesses quite well.

 

However, she herself was chatting away, kneeling across from me at the coffee table, her cheeks scarlet and her nose, too.

 

She stopped in the middle of her story—I had somewhat been following along, but many of the people she’d mentioned, I simply didn’t know, so it was difficult after awhile. Perhaps she noticed my dazed expression, because she said, “Am I boring you?”

 

“N-no,” I tried to assure her, taking a strong sip of my awful drink. “I’m just, um… I’m not really sure who all of these people are.”

 

She relaxed her shoulders. “ _Oh._ Right. You wouldn’t know them, I guess. Well, Rika and Shion are my friends… sort of. Satoshi is the guy Shion likes. And… I guess that’s about it for the important people.” She snorted, half in laughter, half in what I assumed was derision. “She talks about him _a lot._ I guess I understand how she feels, though.”

 

I perked up. _Is she going to tell me she has a crush on someone?_ I feigned disinterest by playing with a piece of my hair. “How so?”

 

She leaned forward, grin flashing across her face. Her teeth were tiny and white, the canines pronounced like a vampire’s, almost. It was incredibly endearing. _And somewhat erotic,_ I thought, hoping the thought wasn’t made obvious on my face.

 

“I like someone too. Well… I think I do. I don’t really know. But I can’t tell anyone. Which kind of sucks.”

 

“Why can’t you tell your friends?” I passed a few tendrils of hair between my fingers, pretending to examine the ends.

 

“They… wouldn’t understand. Or they wouldn’t approve. And they’d _definitely_ make fun of me if they knew… well, nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” She jerked upright, as if electrocuted with her new thought. “What about you, Yuri?”

 

I froze for a moment, letting the hair slip through my fingers. The gin burned in my belly. “What about me?”

 

“Do you like anyone?” Natsuki leaned on her elbows and stretched towards me. I tried not to look at the obvious black print of her bra under her thin white t-shirt. _That’s crass,_ I admonished myself, looking away.

 

“I… I don’t know.” This wasn’t quite the truth. I tried again. “Okay, maybe I do. Maybe I like more than one person. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

 

Natsuki’s expression seemed to sharpen. Her eyes met mine. They were startling, jewel-toned, made to appear even bigger with her tasteful brushes of mascara. “Oh yeah? Who are they?”

 

I squirmed. _Lying doesn’t become you,_ I thought to myself… and strangely, I didn’t want to lie to Natsuki. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was being here, in her home, with the smell of cupcakes baking and her father’s gin settling in my stomach and how she crossed her legs under the table, even though she was wearing a skirt.

 

“Well. They’re two _very_ different people.” _That’s true enough,_ I thought. “One is kind and attractive. The other is… um… someone I never thought I’d see myself liking. It’s kind of strange, honestly.”

 

“I know how you feel.” Natsuki looked at her fingernails. They were short and glittery with polish. “I have no idea how it happened, either.”

 

 _This is getting too close to the truth._ I downed the rest of my drink; it seared the flesh of my throat and forced me into a rough cough.

 

Natsuki looked up, surprised. “You alright? I don’t know CPR, you know. You’ll just have to die if you choke on something.”

 

“Th—that’s—that’s fine,” I said, struggling to regain my composure. “I don’t really care.”

 

She tilted her head. “Don’t care if what?”

 

“If I—oh, nevermind. Are the cupcakes done yet?”

 

She stared at me for a second, then shook her head. After a slight beat, she spoke again. Her gaze was scrutinizing. “Hey, can I… can I ask you something?”

 

I pulled two large pieces of hair forward, hoping to obscure my face. I began to stroke them both methodically. “Okay.”

 

“I’ve heard some people say… well… I’d heard that…”

 

I waited, not offering her any lifelines. _If she wants to ask something personal, she’ll have to figure it out herself._

 

The words froze between us. Before she could speak again, the alarm on her phone rang. “Oh, shoot. The cupcakes are done. Hold on.”

 

I watched her drunkenly scrabble to her feet. Her skirt flew up as she did so; I got a glimpse of her panties yet again. These were black, though.

 

 _Matching bra and panties,_ I thought. A warmth flushed through me, from my chest to my groin. I knew it was more than the gin this time, but she wouldn’t have noticed if I stared at her; she was too tipsy to even formulate her intrusive questions. I watched her bend at the waist, take the tray out of the oven, then set it on the counter to cool.

 

She came back, pink ruffles flouncing about her hips. “I just thought of something cool. Wanna trade clothes?”

 

I burst into what I suppose was nervous laughter. “Do _what_?”

 

“You know. You wear my clothes, I wear yours.” She was smiling, but there was something mischievous about it that made me want to squirm. “I do it with my other friends all the time,” she added.

 

 _Maybe that’s a normal thing to do,_ I thought, standing. _After all, it’s not like I would know._ “Um… okay. But I should warn you that we probably won’t be able to fit in each other’s clothes.”

 

“Well, _duh._ That’s what makes it funny. Okay, come on!” She grabbed my hand—something I didn’t expect at all. It sent a jolt of electricity through my arm.

 

“Um, okay.” I let her lead me into her room. It was fairly typical—white-painted desk, fluffy pink bedspread. I could see a volume of manga shoved under her bed—maybe she didn’t want her father to know she read it? _Seems inconsequential._

 

She stumbled into her bed, clothes coming close to matching her comforter and pillows. She giggled. “Whoops. I tripped.”

 

I sat on the edge of her bed, tentative. I felt the blanket with my fingers; it was soft like a kitten’s fur. “So, what do you want me to try on? Or… I mean…”

 

Natsuki turned over to look at me. Her hair was coming loose from their pigtails. Without thinking, I reached over and yanked at one of her ribbons; it came away in my hand without trouble. Her hair poured out of it, silken and fragile in my hand.

 

The two of us froze like that, her incredulous. She reached for my shirt and pulled herself upright using it as an anchor. The two of us were close, closer than we’d ever been before—I could imagine that I was hearing her heartbeat.

 

Without thinking, I did what I’d wanted to do for forever. I leaned in and let our lips meet. She squeaked in response, but she didn’t pull away. Her mouth was soft and inviting, and I couldn’t stop myself from letting it happen.

 

She broke away, her face brilliant and red—but instead of slapping me or yelling at me, she crawled forward so that she was practically in my lap. “I don’t want you to try on anything,” she said in what was almost a pant. “I want you to take this off.”

 

 _Am I dreaming?_ As hazy as everything seemed, I didn’t think about anything as she began to pull at the sweater I’d chosen to wear. But then I remembered, and just barely in time.

 

“No. Stop!” The sleeves had inched up too high, and she’d seen—she’d seen the scars. Her eyes rose to meet mine.

 

We sat there like that for too long. She let the sleeve fall and scooted away from me.

 

The moment was broken. _I ruin everything again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, everyone, for your patience!!
> 
> the m rating probably comes into play somewhere around now, haha. be prepared/warned/whatever.


	11. Does it Hurt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki isn't afraid.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this._

 

Was it the gin, or was it something else that had incited such bravery within me? Taking Yuri’s hand, leading her into my room—worse, onto my _bed_!—everything felt like something I would do in a dream where shame didn’t exist, but—

 

It was undoubtedly real. The soft fluff of my comforter, our legs intertwining as I pulled myself onto Yuri’s lap, fingers hooked into the thick weave of her sweater. My knees had pushed her legs apart so that I was between them. I could see where her black tights had stretched to show her flesh.

 

 _I’m going crazy._ And I was—crazy, that was, crazy with something I’d never felt before. My heart throbbed, but so did everything else inside of me. All ignited because _she_ was the one who had grabbed my hair. _She_ was the one who’d kissed me, and I’d tasted her and the gin drink and a touch of cupcake frosting and the stale peppermint of her leftover lip balm—

 

And I’d been so crazed, so driven, that I’d even began to paw at the hem of her sweater. _I have to see her._ It was hardly a coherent thought at that point—I just knew that I wanted to put my palms against her abdomen and push her back onto the pillows, wanted to be in control of the situation and wanted to make her feel—

 

But she became frantic when I began to tug at her sweater. “No—wait!”

 

Her voice startled me out of my fevered reverie. Her heavy, cream-colored sleeves were peeled away from her forearms, revealing cross-hatched scars, red and puffy and slashing messily and without order up to her elbows.

 

I pulled away from her, my surprise cutting the mysterious spell I’d been under. Reality was mine again. I tried to meet her eyes, but she had completely obscured her face with her hair. I could feel her shame in dark waves that bled into the air of the room.

 

“Hey,” I tried to say—my voice was louder than I wanted it to be, in the quiet confines of my bedroom. “I’m sorry.”

 

I didn’t know what else to say, but it was clear the spell had been broken. I reluctantly pulled my legs closer to me, tucking them back beneath my skirt. My wanton behavior had begun to sink in—and I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at the way I’d acted, like an alley cat in heat, arching its back and yowling. I’d never done such a thing before, never been _kissed_ , but less by another girl…

 

And it was pretty obvious, I guessed. I put my hands to my lips. They still tingled, still craved more, but I knew I’d have to wait before I could get anything else out of Yuri.

 

_If I ever do again._

 

“It’s not your fault,” Yuri said, her voice muffled. She’d covered her face with both of her hands. Her wrists were still exposed. I didn’t want to look—I tried to keep myself focused on Yuri’s face. “I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

 

I felt myself bristle. _What does she mean by that?_ “I don’t understand,” I said.

 

She lowered her hands. Her cheeks were scarlet—not from the gin, but from her embarrassment. Even flushed, though, Yuri was beautiful. Even with her massacred arms.

 

“I mean… I should never have gone along with any of this.” She tucked her legs under her. She methodically pulled at the longest strands of her hair; it seemed to be comforting her, calming her down. “I should have known that it would go here.”

 

I scoffed without meaning to. “I didn’t even know it would go here.” _But you did,_ a tiny voice in my head piped up. _That’s why you asked her to drink, isn’t it? Isn’t it why you wanted to play ‘dress up?’_

 

“I know. I’m not saying that you did.” Yuri lowered her hands. Her scarred arms lay between us. My curiosity took over—and I looked.

 

Yuri’s skin wasn’t as pale as mine. It was almost more golden in shade, and silkier in texture. Perhaps that’s why the slashes and puffed-up scars that studded her skin looked so shocking to me. They were brutal, in-your-face, ugly and purposeful and _telling._ They let the person seeing them know every dark thought in Yuri’s head, every bad desire, the temptations she’d given in to time and time again.

 

They were _wanton,_ more so than our kiss, more so than the wet, dripping feeling I’d had when I’d shoved my knee between her legs and pushed into her. They were the crudest thing about Yuri, the thing I’d never thought I’d see, whether the rumors were true or not.

 

But I reached for her hand. She jerked upright when our skin made contact and instinctively tried to pull away from me.

 

I held on. _If she thinks she’s more stubborn than me, she’s got another thing coming,_ I thought.

 

“Why do you do it?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice neutral. I turned her hand wrist-side up so that I could examine the scars and fresh cuts even closer. Some of them weren’t healed at all—she could have done this as easily as the night before, as this morning, even.

 

Yuri was silent for a moment. When she answered, her eyes were trained on the space above my head—she was too afraid to meet my eyes. “I guess… there are a lot of reasons.”

 

Without thinking, I ran the tip of my index finger over the bumps and ridges. Yuri jumped as I did. I made sure to be gentle, almost feather-light, especially over the new cuts. But I didn’t stop until I reached her elbow, where the skin had cleared again.

 

“Is this why you were looking for stuff in the kitchen?”

 

She began to tremble as I slowly, carefully, ran the pad of my finger back down her arm. Her breathing became strange like it had been before, short and sort of desperate. “Y-yes,” she stammered. Her skin was so beautiful, even where she’d destroyed it.

 

The spell came over me again. It was her breathing that did it to me this time—I was hearing the way I was affecting her, the way _I_ was making _her_ feel, and it was like the moment had never ended before.

 

“To do this.” I put my lips to the scars nearest her wrist, moistened them for effect. She gasped, only a little, but it was all I needed.

 

I looked up at her then, knowing that we were at that threshold now, that point of no return, and wondering if she would tell me to stop again.

 

But Yuri’s pupils had shrunk into violet beads. Her face was a softer shade of red, the blush soft and inviting. Curious, I moved closer, so that I was in between her spread legs. My hands dropped her wrist, moved to her hair and the curve of her neck.

 

“So does _this_ feel good?” I pulled her heavy hair away from her throat, inched closer until my lips were flush against the skin there. I sank my teeth into her neck, gently at first, but when she moaned I lost control and bit her.

 

“N—Nat—” She fell, then, onto her back, and I came down with her, on top of her, our breasts pressed together and our hearts beating together in frantic companionship. Yuri reached for my face, touched it gently. Her pupils were even smaller, her eyes absolutely crazed. “We can’t—”

 

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” I said. _Where is this coming from?_ But I knew. It’d been there all along, waiting, waiting for me to take Yuri by the hand and tell her _it was okay,_ that she wasn’t a monster for letting her pain show. That I would make her feel better, that I would make even the ugliest parts of her feel beautiful again.

 

She froze then, and I thought for a moment that she would change her mind—but then I heard her whisper, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self*
> 
> thanks, as always, to my readers <3 y'all keep my natsuri world going 'round


	12. I Want You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki takes control.

People had often told me they’d found me mysterious. The truth was far simpler than that, really. There was nothing mysterious about me. There was loneliness, solitude, but I never hid anything about myself from others—I was myself, vulnerable to whoever would decide to hurt me. My weakness, but all my own.

 

That’s what I had begun to think after Natsuki had pushed me onto my back, after her teeth had found the soft part of my neck. I couldn’t hide how I was feeling from her, couldn’t hide how she had affected me—but even as I began to lose myself to what she was doing to me, I became acutely aware of Natsuki herself.

 

She straddled me, her skirt bunched up around her hips. Her face was set into a mask of concentration.

 

 _Is she hiding, then?_ I had a single coherent thought, but she eliminated it with a kiss. Her lips, soft and sticky with some kind of sugared lip gloss, sank into mine, insistent. I forgot myself for a moment, lifted my hands to her head. My fingers slipped through her hair, now unburdened with ribbons, found the dainty curve of her own throat.

 

But when I placed my thumbs on either side of her neck, she stopped what she was doing, drew back from me.

 

“No,” she said. “Don’t do that.”

 

My hands fell back to my side. I stared up at her, my breath slowing. “Oh, I’m sorry!” I felt embarrassed, but she seemed unperturbed.

 

“It’s okay.” She pinned my arms down with her own. “Just let me do it.”

 

She shoved her knee between my legs, and I gasped. I couldn’t think of anything to say—what else was there? Natsuki began tugging at my sweater again, and this time I let her slip it over my head. I was left in nothing but my bra.

 

She lowered her mouth to the tops of my breasts and began to lick at them as though they were covered in cupcake frosting. The touch was foreign, but so warm and wet that it mimicked the feeling between my legs. _I want to make her feel this way._ “Wait,” I breathed, struggling to sit up. “I want—”

 

Natsuki looked at me, her tiny pink tongue still between her glossy lips. “What?”

 

“I want to see you, too.” I took her hands in mine, gave her what I hoped was a seductive smile. In truth, I was so flustered that I wasn’t sure how I looked at all. But the way she’d taken control of me—it was so sudden, and—and it was hardly fair, right?

 

She stretched out, inching forward so that her breasts were crushed against mine. “Are you sure?” She sounded less confident. “I thought…”

 

“What’s wrong?” Now I realized she had lost whatever control she’d exerted over me. She seemed smaller, somehow, younger. “Hey? Natsuki?”

 

She looked back down at me. “I don’t think you want to see me.”

 

“What do you mean?” I pulled myself up, and she reluctantly moved to the side of me. We were side by side on her bed now. “Of course I do. We’ve come pretty far for you to say something like that.”

 

It was meant to be teasing, but her face flamed up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

 

I looked back down at myself. The black cups of my bra cut into my breasts. The obscene red slashes that riddled my arms somehow seemed even more intimate. I felt as though she’d already seen me naked—and I felt ready to see her. I reached out, hoping I wasn’t daring too much, and cupped my hand around her cheek.

 

Her eyes popped open, bright with surprise. But she leaned into my hand, forgetting herself for a moment. She melted into me, just as I had when she’d bitten at my neck. “I don’t want… you to know.”

 

She said this so quietly that I had to strain to hear her.

 

I leaned closer to her, pulled her to face me. “What don’t you want me to know, Natsuki?”

 

She pulled away from me with what seemed like reluctance. To my surprise, she grabbed the hem of her thin white t-shirt and pulled it up and over her head.

 

My eyes went first to her tiny black bralette. They traveled lower, to a startlingly flat stomach, visible ribs, and a healing purple-gold bruise that bloomed right under one of her breasts. It looked so tender, so painful, that I actually felt myself recoiling in shock.

 

“What happened?” I asked, my voice quiet.

 

She covered the spot, along with her ribs, with her arms. Her smile had become sardonic. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

 

_I know how she feels._

_But…_

“You’ve seen the worst part of me, though,” I said, trying for a gentle tone. “And I… um… I want you to know that you’re beautiful and even though you don’t want to talk to me about it…”

 

Natsuki let her hands fall. I reached for her, pulled her against me. She was stiff, at first, but once she realized I just wanted to hold her for a moment, she began to cease resisting. Something about holding her—someone who resisted affection, kindness, or vulnerability—had satisfied something deep inside of me. She was so small, so slight, compared to me—and for a second, I could adopt her protective attitude.

 

_Maybe, just for a second, she wants to feel safe._

She stirred against me. I lowered my lips until they brushed her ear. “I want you to know that you don’t have to tell me anything.”

 

Natsuki trembled, almost imperceptibly. Our breasts, still covered, were pressed against one another. I could feel her heartbeat, fragile and frantic like a bird in a wire cage.

 

“Thank you.” She leaned forward, climbing me slightly, and put her own lips against my ear. For a moment, she merely breathed, but then she sank her teeth into my earlobe.

 

I became aware of my harsh breathing, and she pushed me back onto my back.

 

“Let’s take advantage of this,” she said, wetly kissing the skin under my ear. “I want to take advantage of it. Of you, being here, like this. I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

 

“I…” I closed my eyes against the wave of warmth that overtook me, holding me prisoner to almost numbing arousal. “I—”

 

“You don’t have to say anything. You’ve said enough.” Natsuki straddled me again. “I want to finish what I started, Yuri.” She sank into my body, hands tearing at the snap on my pants. With her skirt around her hips, I could feel her wetness through the fabric of our panties. I lost any ability to speak, could only moan.

 

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said, her voice betraying a hint of shyness. “But I want to figure it out. With you. Is that okay? I’ve never done anything like this before.”

 

“Y—yes,” I said, and then I could feel one of her tiny, dainty hands going under my panties, her fingers caressing and sliding wetly into me. I jerked upright, arms wrapping tight around her until the sensations of our skin, of our heartbeats, of her playing me like a guitar, all of it washed into one fiery burst.

 

“I want you to—to—” she gasped, exerting herself, “I want you to—”

 

“ _What_?” I cried, unable to take anymore, wanting to simultaneously kick her off of me and pull her deeper into me.

 

“I—want—you,” she panted, and then she bit me, teeth firm on my throat, and I spasmed around her, pulling her down with me until nothing seemed real anymore, aside from her hand and her mouth and whatever was left of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more is coming!! haha, get it... get it...
> 
> okay. thanks for the readership, lovelies!


	13. Make Up Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki wants Yuri to make up her mind.

I hadn't wanted her to leave. And I don't think she wanted to leave either.

 

I had pulled myself, sticky with sweat and god knows what else, away from her, lying back on my bed with her eyes rolled upwards. I could still feel her clenching around my fingers, and the sensation was making my own body pulse in a way I had never felt before. Her breasts had heaved with the force of her orgasm.

 

"N-Nat..." she'd breathed, unable to finish my name. I smiled, pleased with myself although I was not able to articulate why. "I..."

 

"You don't have to thank me." I kissed her on her lips and pulled my hand from between her legs.

 

"Thank--you?" Yuri struggled to sit up; her hair was mussed, her face still vaguely dazed.

 

"I said you don't have to!" I grinned.

 

"O-oh." Yuri pulled my blanket around her waist in a futile attempt to cover herself. She appeared wildly out-of-it, as though she was not sure how to proceed or even if she could proceed. "I-- um-- I'm going to have to-- go home and prepare dinner," she said. I could see the regret in her face.

 

"Aw, really?" I scooted forward, pressing myself against where I had just been inside her. "But you'll come back soon, right? There's more stuff I wanna try."

 

Her eyes gleamed beneath her messy dark bangs. "U-um..."

 

"You don't have to say it." I'd smirked. "I know you'll be back, Yuri."

 

She'd half-nodded, and that had been good enough for me.

 

My father returning home could not even put a damper on my mood; Yuri had electrified me, energized me in a way I had never felt before. And I still was not sure how to label our encounter--or how to label my feelings about it, or for her.

 

I just wondered when I could see her again, and if she'd let me touch her that same way.

* * *

The school day seemed dreamlike to me. I couldn't keep myself awake, or even semi-conscious, it seemed; I kept nodding off, and every time I did, my thoughts began to wander--

 

To Yuri. To what I had done to Yuri--or, I supposed, what I'd done with Yuri.

 

It still seemed unreal to me that I'd had a girl--a beautiful one, one I'd half-considered my rival weeks previous--half-naked on my pink bedspread, her legs unwound. Her dark hair spread as far as her legs across my pillowcases. Those bright red slash marks that decorated her body, obscenely obvious against her pale, smooth skin. Her mouth, open and wanting and soft. Her--

 

God. I sat upright in my chair, resisting the urge to squirm. There is actually something wrong with me. But even as I thought it, I began to feel my body warm at the memory. Maybe it's too late to be feeling like there's something wrong with me, though. I guess this is just who I am.

 

What an idea. I glanced over to where my friend Shion sat. She appeared to be doodling on her assignment, lost in her own thoughts. I can't even imagine what would happen if Shion knew I... I...

 

What could I even call it? Was what Yuri and I had done... was it sex? How did two girls have sex? My face heated. Did I have sex with Yuri, of all people? Is that what I did?

 

Oh, my god. I'm a freaking lesbian. But the thought did not mortify me any longer; it only made me blush and smile and remember how beautiful Yuri had looked with her legs spread in front of me.

 

I wonder if it's going to be weird now in the club. Would Monika, Sayori, and the weird guy pick up on something? Yuri was so awkward, anyway... would she really be able to hide it? What we had done, how we felt?

 

Anxiety gurgled in my gut. The day now couldn't move any quicker, of course--and I feared for what would happen in the afternoon.

* * *

"We're going to have to start preparing for the festival soon," Monika said ponderously, twining a strand of hair around her index finger. I sat on the floor, away from everyone else, pretending to read a volume of manga. "But I really want to make this special."

 

"We'll come up with something awesome," Sayori said. She sounded a little worn, even if her voice was bright.

 

The festival talk did not interest me much. However, my eyes shifted to Yuri, who sat beside him, reading that book of her's. Their knees were almost touching.

 

So it meant nothing to her, I thought. The idea filled me with what I could only describe as despair. I slammed my manga shut and brought it with me into the closet, fighting back a flurry of tears that threatened to overcome me.

 

Monika and Sayori looked up, surprised at my subdued outburst, but they said nothing; perhaps they saw my anger on my face. Perhaps they knew I was going to freak out if they tried to approach me.

 

I rested with my back to the door, facing the gloom and the dust of my familiar hiding space. This is where Yuri had brought me tea, I remembered, and where I had invited her to visit me at home and bake with me.

 

Tears threatened my eyes once more. The taste of the icing was nothing compared to the taste of her mouth while we kissed. My heart throbbed. I can't deal with this, I thought. I don't deserve to deal with this jealousy on top of everything else.

 

Jealousy. That's what I'd become, a jealous bitch. A jealous lesbian, spurned by a girl who refused to make up her mind.

 

There was a knock at the door.

 

"Leave me alone, Sayori," I called, moving away from the closed closet door. Parfait Girls mocked me from the dusty shelves. "Don't wanna read poems today."

 

"I-it's me, Yuri."

 

I started to say something--something rude, barbed--but I held my tongue. She was too fragile, and I could not bring myself to hurt her feelings. "Fine. Come in."

 

She creaked the door open. Her hair swayed behind her, untamed like--like the wild, wolflike look in her eyes.

 

She looked behind her, as if to ensure no one had seen her enter the closet. She shut the door with a slow, creaking patience.

 

And she grabbed me by my shoulders, pushed me into the bookcase--I could feel the pointed edges gouging my back--and began to kiss me voraciously. Her tongue drilled into my mouth, and I could taste green tea and jasmine. I could taste everything she was, everything I still desired from her.

 

When she pulled away, I grabbed her arm.

 

"No, don't stop," I said, shameless.

 

She came back to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, it's been forever since i've had a chance to update this fic
> 
> thx for the patience :) xx


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